Leverage
by FreerunnerChez
Summary: When Ed and Sam get caught up in a failed bank robbery, is everything as it seems? And will they both survive to tell the tale? This is my first attempt at Flashpoint fanfic, so please don't be too brutal, lol! Comments good and bad appreciated
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Flashpoint or any of it's characters. If I did, Ed wouldn't be able to go to work, because he'd be chained up in my bedroom (come on, you know he'd look good in chains…. Maybe that's just me)

**Warnings: **Rated T for some coarse language in chapter 2, and because there may be some violence later on

**Other: **This is my first Flashpoint fan fic. Reviews, good or bad, are loved, and especially feedback about the characters (my Spike doesn't sound right, I know, lol)

* * *

The day was drawing to a close. It had been a quiet shift – a good shift. No-one had been hurt, and the peace had been kept for another day. Ed Lane shot a side-ways glance at Sam; it was no accident that the two of them were riding alone together, but rather the culmination of some careful manoeuvring on the senior officer's behalf. The rest of the team had remained at the station in a strategic planning meeting, and Sam was the subject of that meeting. The junior SRU officer's birthday would fall the next day, and the team had yet to plan an appropriate celebration. Ed had been elected to distract him. Sam was oblivious to the distraction technique as the pair laughed and joked their way to the pub, via a brief stop at the bank ostensibly for funds. Leaving Sam in the car, Ed stepped out into the cool early evening air, and pulled his phone out.

As he walked through the automatic doors into the well lit bank, he hit speed dial number two, and was connected to the SRU.

"Winne, it's Ed, how we doing?" he asked quickly, thankful that the bank was one of the old fashioned sort without a glass front - it wouldn't do for Sam to discover the ruse this late in the game. Wouldn't do at all.

"Almost done. Here's what we have planned…"

"Everyone on the floor! Get down, now, now!" The voice erupted from behind him, shattering the calm of the bank. The world slowed for a moment as Ed turned to the source of the disruption; saw the four masked figures dispersing amongst the crowd; saw the four handguns flickering intermittently between the entranced customers; saw gloved hands finding shoulders and pushing people to the carpeted floor.

Real time resumed as a hand found his shoulder and applied pressure: he complied and dropped to his knees, allowing his phone to be plucked from his hand, the call no doubt terminated. His mind whirred frantically as it played catch up with his eyes. Four assailants. All armed. All carrying their weapons with confidence. All masked. All gloved. Working together without the need to constantly check each other's positions. Professionals then – this clearly wasn't their first job. He thought back; there had been no reports of similar robberies in the area. Too smart to keep working the same patch? His eyes were averted, but caught the flicker of movement by the door, and then widened. He shook his head urgently but it was too late.

Outside, Sam had watched Ed enter the bank, then his eyes drifted to stare idly across the road. His interest barely perked as a white van pulled up in front of him, parking on yellow lines. Its driver would be sorry if a traffic warden came down this road. It took him a second to realise what he was seeing as four masked men bundled out of the van and into the bank.

He rummaged frantically through Ed's glove compartment, hoping his senior officer kept his vehicle well equipped. He was not disappointed. He pulled out the small, standard issue handgun, checked it was loaded and pushed a round into the chamber. He would have preferred something with a little more firepower, but this would have to do. He carried on searching, and was rewarded when his hand closed around a small device; a listening device known to members of the SRU as an earwig.

Taking a deep breath, he climbed from the car, pressing the earwig into his ear. He knew what he had to do. One last check that there was a round in the chamber, and he slipped through the doors and into enemy territory.

His eyes swept the room swiftly, falling first on the shell-shocked hostages, and then on Ed, who met his gaze with a sharp shake of his head. For once though, Sam had no intention of obeying the order from his commanding officer.

"Sam Braddock, Strategic Response Unit. Drop your weapons!" The four gunmen turned as one, staring at the lone cop with his raised weapon. Ed glanced at the nearest assailant, but he knew he couldn't cover that distance to tackle the man before he reacted, even with his attention on the younger SRU officer. Meanwhile, Sam's cold eyes roamed the gunmen, counting one, two, three… but he had seen 4 enter the building.

"Braddock, behind you!" Ed Lane shouted urgently, his warning reaching Sam a heartbeat too late. He felt a sharp pain on the side of his head before the world plunged into darkness.

The bank robbers reacted quickly – one grabbed a female assistant with a key card and forced her towards the door, ordering her lock it, while another – the one who had struck Braddock – stalked toward Ed, having heard his shouted warning. The cop kept his gaze on the floor – if he did not appear submissive, things would go a lot worse for him. On the edge of his vision he could see the gun pointed at him, waiting for him to attempt something heroic. He needed to reassure the gunmen that he was not a threat to them. He raised his hands slowly, showing his empty palms.

"How do you know him?" the mask demanded. "You a cop too?"

Ed allowed his gaze to drift up slightly, as far as the gunman's lips, but didn't push for eye contact. When he spoke, his voice was calm and quiet.

"My name's Ed Lane, I work for the Strategic Response Unit," he broke off momentarily as a hand from behind gripped his wrist, his eyes flicking to watch the movement as it was twisted up behind him and placed on the back of his head. His eyes moved back to the man in front of him and he continued.

"But I'm off duty right now. We're not here for you." He kept his eyes forward and offered no resistance as his other hand was lifted to join the first, interlocking his fingers behind his head. A gloved hand started patting him down, no doubt searching for a weapon.

"I was going home to see my wife and kid. That's all I want – to see my wife and kid." A married man with a family was less likely to risk his life doing something stupid, and Ed was counting on the gunmen to know it. It would also make him seem more human to them – the man behind the uniform. He felt the cold metal barrel of a gun touch his cheek from behind and his heart skipped a beat.

"You just keep thinking about them," his captor instructed. "You want to see them again, you do what I say."

Ed nodded, keeping his hands on the back of his head. "I understand," he said calmly. He felt the pressure of the gun move from his face, and heard its owner move away behind him. Ed shifted his gaze to the gun in front of him, noting the gunman's green gloves and wondering briefly about the choice of colours. To one side of him he saw a gunman letting himself behind the counter, and the SRU man sought out his gloves, trying not to openly look in that direction lest he incur the wrath of his captor. Red. Not gang colours then… A method of identifying each other perhaps? The four were of similar height and build, wearing similar non-descript clothes, obviously intended to give the impression of a soldier's uniform. People, he knew, were intimidated by uniforms, and were less likely to hesitate when given an order by someone wearing one. An outfit this professional wouldn't risk using each other's names, so were the colours a substitute?

Around him, a dozen mini-dramas had played out, and the remaining two gunmen – wearing blue and black respectively – stood guard over the 10 or so hostages, who were now laying on their stomachs, hands clasped on the back of their heads. Only he – on his knees, and Sam – where he had fallen – were out of place, and a young woman, who lay comforting a small child, perhaps 5 or 6 years old. His guard caught the direction of his gaze, and interrupted his thoughts.

"Worry about your own problems."

Ed nodded, moving his eyes back forward to the green gloved man, and this time he sought out eye contact with him.

"My buddy over there," he started, nodding at Sam's prone form before moving back to Green's penetrating stare. "How about you let me take a look at him, see if he's ok?"

He kept his face non-confrontational, allowing it to show only concern for his team-mate, and hoping the gunman would read nothing more into the request. Winnie would have heard what was happening before the call was terminated. The phone's GPS could easily be traced. All Ed had to do was stall the robbers until the cavalry arrived. While Green was watching him, Red had only one set of hands to fill the holdalls with cash – it would take twice as long to complete the job, and Ed could only hope that would be long enough.

The criminal looked for a moment as if he would deny to request, then relented with a curt nod of his head.

"Slowly," he warned. "And keep your hands where I can see them."

"Thank you." The cop lowered his hands, but kept his palms facing forward, away from his body. Carefully, he got to his feet, allowing his compliance to keep Green occupied for a few more precious moments. He crossed the room to his fallen friend, aware that his movements were being watched by several of the hostages. He could only pray none of them had any heroics in mind. He pushed the thought aside as he crouched next to Sam, and glanced back at Green.

"I'm just gonna check he's alright." He waited for the gunman's nod of assent before he reached slowly toward Sam's neck, feeling for his pulse that was slow and strong. He lifted an eyelid, watching the pupil react to the bank's lighting.

"You're gonna be fine buddy," he muttered to his unconscious friend with relief. He caught sight of something in Sam's ear, and glanced away quickly, not wanting to betray the location of the earwig. He wondered if there was a way to get it from the unconscious man's ear into his own, but knew that he was being watched too closely to attempt it right now. For all he knew, one of the hostages watching him could be a plant. His fingers explored the side of Sam's head, probing gently at the wound where the gun's barrel had struck him. The blood had already started to clot and the wound wasn't deep. Once he came round, he'd have nothing worse than a lump and a headache. And of course four men pointing weapons at him… But he'd had a lucky escape. Had one of the gunmen opened fire, it would be a corpse he was looking at. He shook his head, as though he could shake away the mental image, and glanced back at his masked captor.

"Move him," the now familiar voice demanded, breaking into his thoughts. "Over there, with the others." Green had obviously come to the conclusion that having an unconscious cop by the door might attract a little too much attention.

Ed gripped Sam beneath his arms, supporting his head as much as possible. From the corner of his eye he saw the black cars pulling up outside the glass doors, and knew he had only to buy a few more moments while his team positioned themselves and established a command post. Slowly, he dragged the unconscious cop across the floor, keeping the gunman's attention on him. As yet, the SRU's arrival had gone unnoticed. He laid Sam at the edge of the group, where he hoped he would attract less attention from the other hostages. Avoiding looking round in what would immediately be noticed as a suspicious gesture, he rolled Sam's head onto its side, ensuring his airway would remain clear. At the same time, he slid a hand under it, and gently plucked the earwig out.

"Next to him, on your stomach – hands on the back of your head," the anticipated order came, and Ed complied readily, using the movement to conceal the sleight of hand that left the listening device in his ear. Now all he could do was wait.


	2. Chapter 2

The black cars rolled to a halt, and heavily armoured cops climbed out. The previously deserted street became a hive of activity. Orders were given swiftly, and uniforms were dispatched to set up barricades on both ends of the road. The Strategic Response Unit had arrived.

The remainder of team 1 gathered around Sergeant Greg Parker, listening to his instructions and interrupting only with nods and assents. Everyone knew what was at stake.

"I know this is personal guys, but we can't let it cloud our judgement. We play it by the book, and we get them out of there alive. Jules, Wordy, you're alpha team. Spike, you're my second. Lou, you'll be less lethal with team 3 when they get here."

Nods all round was the order of the day before Greg resumed.

"I want blue prints, and reports of any bank robberies in the area. I want to know who these people are. And I need the CCTV footage… Spike?"

"I'm on it Sarge," Spike replied, and true to his word he ducked inside the Mobile Command Unit.

As the various team members departed to their tasks, Greg allowed himself a moment to take a breath. Team 3 were gearing up and would be there within 20 minutes, but he knew he needed to make contact before then. Staring across at the cold brick walls of the bank, he wondered how the people inside were faring. He wondered if Ed and Sam were alive. When Winnie had heard the robbery in progress, team 1's shift had been over for quarter of an hour. But not one of them even waited to be asked if they wanted the call out; they'd been ready to leave before Winnie had finished giving the report. They were a good bunch; he was proud of them.

"Sarge, I've got the camera feed," came a voice in his ear piece, and he ducked inside the command unit with Spike. Inside the cramped vehicle, the other SRU man was bent over a monitor, and threw a brief glance over his shoulder at the sergeant before returning his focus to the screen.

"They've sent over the footage for the last 15 minutes." Nothing more was said, and nothing more was necessary. The two men watched the footage of the entrance in silence, broken only by Spike's muted curse as he watched Braddock struck down. Greg turned his attention away from the footage; he knew Spike would tell him anything he needed to know.

"Restrict that search to robbers working in teams of four – this isn't their first job," he instructed his second, and then, on the radio:

"Team, we have four hostiles, multiple hostages, including Ed and Sam. Braddock is injured, possibly unconscious, but not shot. Repeat, he is not shot. Alpha team, are you in position?"

"Alpha team in position," came Jules's voice over the radio, not betraying the emotion she felt, the fear that Sam was badly hurt. "No solution."

"Copy," he replied. "I'm going to make first contact."

He adjusted his headset, and pressed a button on the switch board, dialling the bank's number, as Spike spoke into the auto transcriptor.

"18:19, Sergeant Parker begins the negotiations."

As the phone rang in his ear, Greg watched the live feed from the CCTV, and silently urged the gunmen to pick up.

Inside the bank, the most mundane sound sent the perps into a panic. Green spun round to the phone, then hurried to the door, looking out before ducking back inside.

"Cops!" he called, which brought a rush of curses from the others. Blue stalked towards Ed, pointing his gun down at the cop.

"What did you do?" he demanded, a look of vengeance shadowing his eyes.

"Leave him, we don't have time for that," Green urged. In response, Blue kicked the captive cop in the ribs. Ed grunted, rolling with the blow, and fighting against his instincts to strike back – he was too badly outnumbered.

"Answer me!" Blue shouted at him.

"He's right, there's no time," came an authoritive voice from behind, sparing Ed from answering. Red was back from filling the bags, which he now abandoned by the counter.

"Take a hostage, check for another way out. I'll stall for time. Green, keep an eye on the hostages; Black, watch the cops out the front. Don't let them get too close."

A relative calm settled over the group, but for one woman who was reluctantly dragged away by the disgruntled Blue in search of an escape route. It was only then that Red picked up the phone.

Greg had been beginning to think that there would be no answer, when the ringing stopped and was replaced by the sound of breathing. Pausing for just a beat, he began talking to the unknown subject on the end of the line.

"Hello, my name is Sergeant Greg Parker, I'm with the Police Strategic Response Unit. Am I talking to the man in charge?"

"You're talking to the man who has 12 hostages including 2 cops," growled the voice on the other end. "You try to come in here and people are gonna get hurt."

"Nope, no, we're not going to do that," the negotiator reassured him. "We just want to end this peacefully, so we can all go home."

"So you can go home, we go to jail," Red replied, unimpressed.

"I'm not going to lie to you, you're in a lot of trouble," Greg agreed. "But if you co-operate, if you put your weapons down and come out, things will go a lot better for you in the long run."

There was a hesitation before the hostage-taker's response came.

"We need time to think about it."

We. It suggested that there was no one person in command, that every member of the team had a say. That could be good or bad, depending on how the negotiations went. If the man he was talking to escalated and refused to talk, he could go through another of the team.

"That's ok," Greg was quick to agree. "I can understand that. No-one's going to rush you. Why don't we slow things down a little? What's your name?"

"You can call me Red."

Greg covered his mouthpiece and spoke quietly to Spike.

"Red… see if you can find the significance." He uncovered the mike and continued his dialogue with the subject.

"Ok Red. I need you to do me a favour, while you're thinking. I need you to tell me if any of the hostages are hurt. Can you do that?"

"They're fine. One of the cops got a bump on the head for playing the hero, but he's fine. For now," came the voice, sounding a little defensive – he was expecting trouble over Sam's injury, but there was no remorse – he would do it again if he had to.

The implied threat was not lost on Greg, but at least "Red" was being honest with him. Now that it was out in the open, Sam's injury would not act as a barrier between them.

"Thank you. I'm glad you were able to tell me that, and I'm glad that no-one was badly hurt, because that's going to go in your favour." Greg's voice by comparison was sincere, non-threatening, and intended to reassure. The next threat was considerably less sublime.

"If you want to keep it that way, you better move your men back – I don't want anyone within 50 feet of this bank. One inch closer and people start dying."

Red had spotted the arrival of team 3, and he didn't sound happy about it.

"Ok, I'm going to start working on that…" The line went dead. With a sigh, Greg pushed himself out of his chair. He would need to brief team 3.

Unknown to the team outside, Ed had heard every word said by his team. The information provided through the earwig gave him confidence: the team was here, and Greg was on the case. He'd handled far trickier negotiations than this one. If he had to be a hostage, Greg was the one he wanted negotiating for him.

Blue chose that moment to re-appear, shoving the terrified hostage in front of him. The woman stumbled as she was pushed towards the rest of the group, and Ed saw the malice in Blue's eyes.

"On the floor, now!" The woman sniffed as she complied, lying flat on the floor, fighting a losing battle with the tears that streamed down her face.

The cop winced as a foot prodded him in his bruised ribs. He got the message and lowered his eyes.

"There're cops all over the place out the back – we can't get out that way," Blue reported, rubbing his hand across the top of his balaclava'd head in frustration.

"Shit! Shit, shit, this is all wrong," Black said, deserting his post by the front doors.

"Alright, we need a new plan," confirmed Red. "If we stay calm, we can still get out of this thing. We fall apart, we leave this place in body bags. So we stay calm, we work as a team, and we work this out. Agreed?"

It was not perhaps the most inspirational speech ever given, but it seemed to do the trick. Ed, watching from the corner of his eye in order to prevent his ribs taking any more of a battering, saw the gunmen pull themselves up straight, and saw the mad panic fade from their eyes. These were not men ready to give themselves up, no matter what they had told the sergeant.

"Green – get on the computer. Everything you can find out about Greg Parker. Black, back on the doors. If they get too close, do what you have to." Red turned back to the room at large, pointing his weapon at the hostages who became studiously interested in the faded carpet.

"Everyone, over there," he gestured with the gun to the wall furthest from the door. "Backs against the wall, hands on heads, one at a time. You first." He pointed his gun down at a man at a suit – a bank worker – who got slowly to his feet, and moved across to the wall.

"You next." One by one the hostages moved, under Blue and Red's supervision, until only Ed and Sam remained.

"Move him."

"Ok," Ed agreed, slowly getting up. He kept his movements slow and steady, aware of the guns pointing at him. Again, he gripped Sam beneath the arms, moving his team-mate as gently as possible across the floor. He laid him flat next to the wall, taking advantage of the opportunity to check his pulse and breathing – still slow and steady. He considered trying to bring him round, but decided against it. There was nothing he could do anyway, and at least unconscious he couldn't be used as a human shield. As he started to sit next to him, a voice cut across him.

"You. Cop." He glanced warily across at Green, seated at a computer. "Over here, now," he commanded. With a quick glance at Red to make sure he had heard the instruction, he moved towards the gunman.

"Stop there. On your knees, hands behind your head," he instructed when Ed was a few feet from him. Ed sunk slowly to his knees and interlocked his fingers behind his head. Complete compliance would mean that his move – when he made it – would be entirely unanticipated when it came. He hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"Green, what you doing?" Red questioned, not taking his eyes from the group of hostages.

"I need information. He has it," Green responded.

"I'll help you get it," Blue said, striding across to the pair and placing the barrel of his weapon on the back of Ed's head. Green shot his partner a look but said nothing. He turned his attention to the captive.

"Greg Parker, you know him." It was a statement, not a question, and Ed didn't bother to deny it.

"Yes."

"He's your boss?"

"He's my boss." He chose his words carefully, mirroring the subject, holding eye contact, and at the same time wondering where this was going. Green broke the eye contact, calling across to his comrade.

"Red, the negotiator, what unit did he say he was with?"

"Strategic… Strategic something, same as that one," Red answered, gesturing at Ed. Green turned his attention back to the cop in front of him. Ed answered before he was asked, slowly working his way inside the subject's head.

"Strategic Response Unit."

Green nodded, putting his gun down – out of Ed's reach – and started tapping away. The cop lifted his head slightly, trying to see the screen, but the pressure of the gun behind him increased, forcing his head down again.

"Give me an excuse," the malicious voice of Blue whispered in his ear.

Green worked intently at his task, the screen displaying realms of code as he wormed his way into systems that were supposed to be closed to him, until he arrived at the SRU database. Highly classified, and supposedly impenetrable. Nothing was impenetrable if you had the skills – and the time. The latter was in short supply. This was where the cop came in – if he could be made to co-operate. He spun his chair to face him.

"I want to be very clear. Blue hates cops. He'd love nothing more than to put a few bullets into your buddy. Mess me around, and I'll let him."

Ed fought off a wave of nausea and tried to focus on his training.

"I hear ya. Just tell me what you need."

"Pass codes. I want pass codes to the SRU database."

"I don't have those," Ed lied, his mind working frantically. He couldn't allow the hostile to gain access to the database, but he couldn't let Sam get shot either.

"Maybe I wasn't clear before. I will fuck your friend up so bad he'll wish he's dead, and I won't stop there. You see that kid? I'll make you watch while I blow her head off. Give me the pass codes, or people are going to die."

Ed relented. He could only hope that someone was monitoring the computers from outside, and would block the attempt. Green tapped in the pass code as Eddie supplied it. The system was much less secure from the inside, and it was easy for him to over-ride the security features intended to limit Ed's access. Parker's personnel file was quickly located. He nodded to Blue.

"I'm in."

The blue gloved man pulled the SRU man to his feet, forcing him towards the other hostages. He sank to the floor next to Sam, keeping his vigil next to his injured friend. He listened to the feed from the earwig with growing frustration – when would they realise he had the device? When would they start talking to him, dammit!? It was like watching one of those murder mysteries, when the killer is walking up behind his next unwitting victim – you screamed at them, it's him, it's him! – but they couldn't hear you, and you could do nothing but watch, an outside observer. So he sat inside the bank, isolated from his team, and waited some more.


	3. Chapter 3

Spike had been squinting at a computer monitor for some moments before he spoke.

"Sarge?"

Greg looked across at him with a mildly harassed expression on his face.

"I'm picking up a rogue signal from inside the bank."

Greg was suddenly fully attentive.

"What sort of signal?"

Spike was silently for another moment as he considered the data in front of him.

"Someone's listening in on us... they're sending a transmission. I think..." he paused, and then carried on with certainty. "It's an earwig, one of ours."

"How can you tell?" he asked, staring at the on-screen data that may as well have been in another language.

"All of ours have a unique electronic signature, like a fingerprint. The computer's picking it up."

Both men paused, considering the enormity of this new information. Someone, inside the bank, was in possession of an SRU earwig, had been listening to everything that the team had been saying, and was transmitting every word said by the subjects. The question was, who was on the other end of the earwig? Greg positioned his mike back in place over his mouth and spoke into it.

"Is there someone else on this frequency?"

Spike tapped the cctv monitor with excitement.

"There. Ed looked straight at the camera."

Greg nodded with relief.

"Eddie, if you're listening, tap your foot."

A smile spread to Greg's face as he watched Ed give two small but distinct taps of his foot through the monitor.

"Good to have you with us buddy, we're working on it, just sit tight."

Inside the bank, Ed battled to keep his face neutral. Relief washed over him, but he dared not let it show. A low groan came from beside him, snatching his attention.

"Braddock. Sam, can you hear me?"

The groan repeated itself, drawing the attention of Red, who kept a wary eye on the pair but did not approach.

"Sam, look at me." Slowly, a pair of blue eyes opened, then winced shut as the bank's lighting stung them. A few seconds passed before he attempted again, his eyelids peeling apart tenderly, and this time they stayed open, fighting to focus on his teammate's concerned face.

"Good man. You know where we are?"

Sam thought for a moment, wincing again as his memory rushed back to him. He raised a hand and touched it to the side of his head, then drew it away and checked it, as though expecting to see the now-clotted blood.

"I guess so. No, don't try to talk" – this as he parted his lips slightly and found his mouth parched and gritty – "just take it easy, ok?"

Sam clearly had no intention of following that particular piece of advice, and tried to push himself up onto his elbows. Ed studiously ignored Red's attention as he supported Sam.

"Easy, I got you," he muttered, slipping an arm under Sam's, and helping him into a sitting position. Sam leaned back against the wall gratefully and waiting for his head to stop spinning.

"Th... thanks," he managed.

Greg's voice sounded in Ed's earpiece, telling the rest of the team that Sam had regained consciousness. He'd never heard the word "copy" spoken with such relief and elation as when his team-mates responded. The next instructions were his.

"Ed, you need to start talking to these guys. They're stalling for time and we don't know why. You need to get them to open up."

Ed hesitated. He was a sniper, not a negotiator.

"I'll be right with you Eddie, just take it slow. Ask them for something. Get them talking. Give them a chance to show their humanity."

After the earlier threats that his superior had not heard, Ed had considerable doubts about their humanity. He did not, however, have any doubts about the sergeant's ability to read the situation. The sniper looked across at the gunmen. Black was still watching the door, albeit from a more concealed position, and Green remained at the computer. That left Red and Blue, and somehow Ed didn't think Blue would be particularly receptive to anything he had to say.

"Hey." Red had been watching the pair, and now turned to give them his full attention as the cop addressed him. "My buddy needs some water," he said softly. "Do you think I could get him some?"

"That's good Eddie," confirmed the voice in his ear. "That's real good."

A brief moment of silence followed, during which Ed noted a look of hesitation crossing the face of one of the bank's employees, before she ventured:

"There's a water cooler in the staff room."

"Where's that?" Red demanded of her. The gun stayed on the cops, and this, perhaps, gave her the confidence to answer.

"Upstairs."

"No," Red snapped. "Not a chance."

"Ed, there's a bathroom on the ground floor," Greg supplied. Ed stopped himself from nodding in response, before directing his question to the hostage.

"Is there a toilet down here, for the customers?"

The woman nodded.

"By the counter," she said with a waver in her voice, her face betraying that she wished she had not spoken up; she did not want the gunman's attention. Ed drew it away from her and back onto him by seeking eye contact with Red. He had caught sight of an empty mug on a desk, and when he had the subject's attention, he nodded to it.

"There's a mug on the table, I could fill it, be back out here in 2 minutes." He spread his hands as he spoke, emphasising how innocuous of the suggestion was. Red hesitated.

"Keep talking to him Eddie," Greg prompted in his earpiece.

"You decide to give yourselves up, it's gonna look good on you that you took care of the hostages. Show that you didn't come in here with the intention of hurting anyone."

Two quick steps saw the barrel of Red's gun pressing into Ed's forehead.

"We ain't giving ourselves up, you got that?" he ground out.

Outside, Greg's finger hovered over the button, ready to dial the bank and interrupt the exchange.

"Jules, do you have the solution?"

"No joy," she replied tensely, heart pounding so much that she was sure that the Remmy must shake in her hands. But it didn't. They would be ok. Both of them. If she could just get the angle, just find the solution...

Inside, Ed kept his cool and reassured the gunman. "Ok, I hear you. That's your decision. You're in charge here." Eye messaging and mirroring backed up his statement, and slowly the aggression ebbed from his captor's stance.

"You're damn right." The gun broke contact with the cop's head.

"Get up. Slowly. Let's go."

Ed nodded and steadily rose to his feet as the gunman gestured towards the mug.

"That's good work Ed," the sergeant praised, recognising the gunman's concession as an expression of remorse for his over-reaction. Greg wondered what had caused it. Did Red have a back up in place to get out of the bank, was that why he was stalling? Or was he just delaying the inevitable?

With Red following a few feet behind, Ed collected the mug and headed towards the bathroom.

"So, you got a plan to get out of here? Looks like your boys are counting on you to pull a rabbit out of the hat, huh?" His voice was casual, conversational, and he spoke with a quick glance over his shoulder, showing Red his friendly, open face. His tone became a little more serious – understanding – as he carried on.

"I know what it's like to have people counting on you to get them through, when you just don't know how to pull it off. Horrible kind of pressure to be under... the worst kind. Like they're your family, and you don't know how to help them, how to keep them safe."

He turned the tap on and let the water flow into the mug, watching Red's reaction to his sincere words through the mirror tiles hung on the otherwise bare wall. Red made eye contact with him in the mirror.

"You done sharing?" Red demanded, but his voice was closer to amused than hostile.

Ed smiled, friendly, and let it spread to his eyes.

"None of my business, I get that." He broke eye contact as he turned the tap off. The rushing of water ceased abruptly and silence filled the small room for a few heartbeats.

"I'm just saying, those guys outside? They're professionals. They can't just let you walk out of here, you know that, right?"

"Just as well I've got plenty of leverage then, ain't it? Now move." Red's eyes turned hard again, and Ed knew he needed some time to process what he had been told. He kept his posture non-threatening as he stepped out of the small room, taking care not to invade the gunman's space.

Greg let out a sigh of relief as he watched Ed re-enter the shop floor of the bank on the CCTV and take his place next to Sam. The ex-soldier was recovering from his injury quickly, though Ed still help the mug to his lips for him. This, Greg suspected, was as much for Red's benefit as for Sam's – he was letting Red see for himself what he had been talking about in the bathroom, showing him that they were similar. He smiled to himself and silently praised the team leader.

It was time to call them again. He raised his finger over the button, ready to continue the negotiation.

"Wait!" It was Spike. "Sarge, you gotta see this."

Greg leaned over Spike's shoulder, staring at the screen that had captivated the other man.

"What am I looking at Spike?"

"Someone's hacked into the SRU database – from _inside_ the bank."

"How is that possible?"Spike tapped a few more buttons and then nodded to himself.

"Ok, ok, it looks like they used Ed's access codes, and then bypassed the additional security features once they were inside."

"What have they been looking at?" Greg asked, an unpleasant feeling welling inside his stomach.

"Personnel files. Ed's. Sam's. Yours." He shot a look at the negotiator before continuing.

"Thing is, we should never have known."

"How do you mean?" Greg did not bother to hide his confusion.

"If someone's good enough to slip past our security, the system should never have detected them."

"So they got sloppy?" Greg suggested, waiting for Spike's opinion.

"No, I don't think so. Whoever this is, he wanted us to know he was there."

That didn't make sense. Or maybe it did. He looked at the CCTV monitor, where one of the men remained hunched over the computer, not accessing the bank's files, as they had believed, but searching out information on him and his team. If Spike was right – and he usually was – then whoever it was wanted his attention. He had it.

"Spike, can you get a message onto that screen?"

Spike nodded, tapping a few buttons.

"Ok, do it."

Spike typed as Greg dictated, and a moment later, the message appeared on the screen inside the bank.

_This is Sergeant Greg Parker. Who am I talking to?_

Green stopped typing for a moment, staring at the screen, and throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder. No-one had seen. The two cops watched on the CCTV monitor as the hostage taker replied. A few seconds later, the reply flashed up in the command unit.

_This is Green. My handler is Sergeant Patrick Wilson, Toronto PD. Please confirm asap. There isn't much time._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews guys, please keep them coming, they really make my day :) Apologies for the delay in posting this chapter, the death of a close canine friend really chewed up my muse. Hopefully won't be so long until the next chapter.**

* * *

Greg stared at the screen in silence for a moment. He blinked twice. He squinted. Then he turned to Spike.

"Spike?"

His voice snapped Spike out of his trance.

"I'm on it boss."

He spun away, grabbing a phone and punching numbers into it.

"Sergeant Patrick Wilson please," he spoke into the device.

"This is Mike Scarlatti, I work for the Strategic Response Unit. I'm going to need you to find him for me."

Greg groaned and turned away, speaking into his headset.

"Team, we've got a development. We've just received a communication from one of the subjects going by the alias "Green." He claims to be working for the Toronto PD. We're trying to verify."

A series of copy's echoed in Ed's ear as he absorbed this new information. Could there be any truth to the claim? He thought back frantically, reassessing the events of the last hour. It had been Green who had knocked Sam unconscious, but if he hadn't acted, would the others have opened fire? It seemed likely, after all, there had been three guns to Sam's one. It had been Green who had questioned him about being a cop; had it been left to Blue it would surely have been more physical. It had been Green, again, who had pulled Blue from him when the subject had been demanding answers about the SRU's arrival. The more Ed thought about it, the more plausible it seemed that his actions had been those of an undercover operative trying to de-escalate the situation whilst maintaining his cover. Letting him check Sam, his threats – empty ones? – to make him co-operate when Blue had been pointing a gun at him, having him move the unconscious Sam from the doorway – where he risked injury had the SRU chosen to storm the building. It all made sense now. He had to let Sam know that Green was on their side, but he would have to choose him moment carefully if he was to avoid blowing Green's carefully constructed cover.

He glanced up as Red summoned the other three gunmen to him, and for a moment Ed's heart raced – had they discovered Green's deception? He quickly dismissed the idea – Red had not spoken to anyone, and the undercover agent had given him no reason for suspicion. Ed watched as the quartet gathered together, keeping only half an eye on the hostages.

"How's your head?" he asked Sam, loud enough for anyone listening to hear. Sam started to shrug, then caught the look in his team leader's eyes. He allowed Ed to turn his head, fingers probing about the minor wound as he leaned closer to get a better look. With Sam's ear now near his lips, he lowered his voice and spoke softly.

"Keep staring ahead, don't nod. Green's a cop."

Sam followed the instructions to the letter, his face betraying no shock or surprise. A moment later, Ed released his head and gave him a pat on the cheek.

"You'll be fine, just stop head butting people's guns, you hear me?"

Sam played his part and cracked a smile – to anyone watching, they were just two buddies looking out for each other.

"No chance, they won't go for that." The two SRU officers glanced at each other as Green's voice drifted across the room to them.

"So we top one of the cops, make them take us a little more seriously." It was, predictably, Blue who was suggesting the violent solution. Green was quick to shake his head in disagreement.

"And you think, what, they'll just let us drive right out of here, with one of their own lying dead?"

"So we take the other one with us, unless they want two dead cops they'll get out of our way."

"What world do you live in? You try that, and we are all dead!"

"Enough." It was Red's authorative voice that cut across the other two. They fell silent. He raised his gun and advanced on the two captive SRU officers. The weapon drifted between the two, then settled on the elder of the pair.

"Up."

"Take me," Sam was quick to implore.

"Shut it," Red scorned the desperate request. Ed nodded slowly, and raised his hands as he got to his feet.

"Ok."

"Over there," Red demanded, shoving him toward the watching trio.

"Whatever you want." Ed kept his balance and walked toward them, keeping his hands raised. He stopped a couple of feet away, throwing an uncertain look over his shoulder at Red. He was unsure of what the gunman wanted, but he was confident that it was not to kill him – if that had been his intention, he would have sent Ed away from his men, not towards them. Red walked slowly around him, keeping his gun trained on the SRU man, and rejoined the other hostiles. Blue's weapon was pointing at him too now, and Ed could almost feel him itching to squeeze the trigger.

"Those are your men out there, you're one of them, you know what they're thinking," Red stated. "So you tell me. Which of these two is right? If I tell your negotiator I want a car, what's he gonna say?"

Ed hesitated. The truth, of course, was that Greg would never let them leave the building unless their hands were above their heads or in cuffs. His powers of deduction told him that the quartet would not be particularly receptive to this news. He nodded to Green.

"He's right. If you hurt any of these people, they won't let you get past the end of the street. As long as there's a chance of this ending peacefully, they'll keep negotiating."

"You didn't answer his question," Blue snapped, shoving Ed backwards.

"No," Ed answered before he could stop himself, squaring up to his aggressor and staring him in the eye. "They won't let you have a car." He regretted it as soon as he had said it; years of training said he should keep his cool, be polite, be charming, be anything but confrontational. Never retaliate. The gun struck him across the side of the face, knocking him to the floor. He never saw it coming. Pain raged along his jaw, and blood dripped from his cheek where the weapon's sights had torn the flesh. Blue grinned down at him, levelling his gun with Ed's stomach. Red stepped between the pair, staring down at the cop.

"So maybe I'll apply a little more leverage."

"Copy that, on my way Sarge." Wordy jogged down the stairs, leaving Mark Taylor from Team 3 with Jules, still looking for the Sierra shot, and still having no joy. The plan had changed. Greg wanted his Close Quarters Battle expert on hand to look at alternative options if negotiations were unproductive. Wordy was thinking CS gas, entry teams through the front and rear armed with rubber bullets – front team to take down the hostiles, rear team to extract the hostages. He'd need to take a closer look at the floor plans, but with only 3 hostiles, and 2 exits, it was looking promising. If it came to that.

A strange kind of calm settled over the bank as darkness began to fall. Black had been replaced by Blue watching the doors and was now perched on the edge of a desk watching the hostages, who sat still and silent. Green worked silently at the computer, his back turned to the room. Red was the only person in the bank on his feet, leaning against the wall beside the counter, his eyes alert and roaming amongst the hostages.

Sam watched him from the corner of one eye, waiting until he looked away before he spoke quietly to Ed.

"We've got a problem."

"I'm glad you noticed that Samtastic," Ed replied wryly, his grin instantly replaced with a wince as pain shot across his face.

"No seriously." He risked another quick glance at Red to ensure they weren't being watched. "When I came in, I had an earwig. It's gone."

"Relax, I've got it."

"You've…"

"You two, shut it." Red had spotted them and was now gesturing with the gun. Ed nodded slightly in compliance, and Sam looked down at his boots, hiding the relief in his eyes. If one of the hostiles had got hold of the earpiece… the whole team could have been jeopardised.

Silence should have resumed, but it didn't. It took Sam a moment to work out what the sound was, and when he turned to find the source of the wheezing, his eyes settled on the small girl clutching her mother beside him and Sam. Emboldened by her daughter's suffering, the woman took in Sam's concerned look and said, "She has asthma." The woman starting hunting through her pockets, and then sniffed in panic.

"It's in my purse... Her inhaler… It's in my… she needs…" Sam followed her eyes to the bag lying on the floor in the middle of the bank, abandoned when the gunmen had burst in.

"It's ok," Sam assured her. "It's going to be ok. I just need you to calm down for me, can you do that?"

The woman took a shaking breath and nodded unsteadily.

"Ok, good." Sam's eyes shifted to Red, hovered a moment on the weapon in his hands, and then moved up to meet his face. Red sensed the man watching him, and turned to face the cop.

"What you looking at?" he demanded. Sam heard the open hostility in his voice and wondered if he should have let the senior SRU officer negotiate for the bag, but it was too late – he was committed now.

"This girl needs your help." Red kept watching Sam, but said nothing. He was listening.

"She has asthma, her medication is in that bag. Maybe I could get it for her?"

"Not you." Red's eyes moved from Sam to Ed. It was clear he did not trust the younger SRU officer. "Him."

Ed nodded.

"Ok."

He raised his hands slightly, and watched Red for his reaction as he eased himself to his feet, taking care to move slowly and keep his hands level with his shoulders. Red was starting to trust him, despite his earlier slip-up, and he wanted to reinforce the idea that he was not a threat to the small team, and its leader. He stepped carefully towards the bag, acutely aware of the handgun levelled at him. He paused a foot away, staring down at the floor. He crouched down, shaking his head and fighting the urge to curse. The inhaler was on the floor in several pieces. It clearly had fallen from the bag and been stepped on in the confusion. It was useless. He thought quickly. The boss would be listening in – he needed to let him know that they had a problem. He looked across at Sam.

"It's broken."

The woman let out a sob, and Sam reached out an arm to comfort her. He leaned close and spoke in her ear; she nodded and stroked the back of her daughter's head, composing herself. Red gestured with the gun, and Ed moved back towards the group. He had done what he could – it was up to the guys outside now.

The guys outside were cursing their luck. A child with asthma meant CS gas was no longer an option. The same applied to flash-bangs, smoke grenades, and half a dozen other less lethal options. A child on the brink of asthma attack with no inhaler meant that the clock was ticking. They would have to get her out quickly, or face the consequences. Greg knew the time had come to make the second call: he couldn't afford to wait for Green's handler to be contacted.

As the phone rang in his ear, he watched Red pick up the receiver on the CCTV monitor.

"Yeah?"

"Hi Red, it's Greg Parker again. How are you all doing in there?"

"Fine – we're all fine." The answer came a little too quickly, and Greg knew that he was bothered by the girl's suffering. It was a good sign; it meant he could still be reached. In SRU terminology, it meant he was starting to respond to Stockholm. Greg would work on deepening the connection between the hostage taker and the hostages, encouraging him to see them as people, not targets.

"Well I'm glad to hear that Red. Can you tell me how my officers are doing?"

"They'd be doing a damn sight better if they kept their mouths shut."

"Yeah, I get that, they can be a little hot-headed sometimes. But they're just looking out for each other, just trying to keep each other safe, you know what it's like, am I right? And that's what I'm out here trying to do Red, trying to keep you and your team safe."

"If you want everyone to stay safe, then you better listen carefully." Red's tone had changed, and Greg knew that he was about to make his second demand. A lot would hang on how the next minute played out. One moment could change everything.

"I'm listening," Greg assured him.

"I want a car outside the bank, with a full tank of gas, and I want it within an hour."

"Ok, I'll see what I can do. Where do you want to go?"

"You don't need to know that, just make sure that tank's full, got it?" The answer was short and aggressive – Red hadn't thought that far ahead and he was trying to cover it up.

"Ok, I hear you," Greg intoned smoothly.

"Good. We want food and blankets for the hostages – and an asthma inhaler."

"I'll look into that for you. I'm going to need something in return, to show my boss you're willing to co-operate with us."

"What?" Red demanded, instantly suspicious.

"We need the names of the hostages, so we can contact their families, tell them that they're safe," Greg lied easily. They had, of course, no intention of worrying the families of the hostages – they were more concerned about discovering any medical conditions that would affect their options if the SRU decided to storm the building.

"Fine. Call me when you've got what I need."

The dial tone sounded in Greg's ear; the conversation was over.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Just a short chapter this time. I might not have time to write anything for a few days, and I wanted to get something up before then.**

* * *

"Sergeant Patrick Wilson, Toronto PD. I just got your message," the well built man introduced himself, simultaneously flashing his id and holding out a hand to shake Greg's. Greg accepted the hand and returned the introduction.

"Greg Parker, Strategic Response Unit. What can you tell me about your man?" He wasted no time, leading Wilson straight through into the command unit.

"His name is Nathan Young, he's been with the PD 8 years, working this case for 2. Is that a live feed?" He was staring at the CCTV monitor. He didn't wait for an answer.

"It took him 6 months to get in on a job with them. This is the third. The last two they were in and out within 5 minutes, never leaving any evidence, no-one able to ID them except Nate." He looked up at Greg, who was watching him impassively.

"They'd done at least 2 other banks before we were on to them, killed a security guard at one of them. We want all three of them behind bars for a long time – we knew Nate's word was never going to be enough for that – we had to catch them in the act. They've never let slip where they're raiding in advance, never made a mistake – until now. How's my boy doing?"

"He's doing good, he's keeping his head," Greg assured the other man, who nodded in response. "So, he's been in deep cover for 2 years now?" Again, Wilson nodded. Greg watched him carefully, assessing the man's reaction. "Do you think there's a possibility he's gone native?"

"No. Not a chance. Nate's one of the best I've worked with. He came from a bad background, sure, but he put that behind him. He really wanted to make something of himself – and he has." Greg listened to the sincerity in his voice, and believed him. The SRU's own Lou came to mind – sometimes the best gems came from the most rugged rocks.

"Ok, that's good news. What about the subjects, what do we know about them?" Wilson looked uncomfortable.

"Not much," he admitted. "They never use their real names, never talk about their history, never stay in the same place long. Nate managed to get photos, but we haven't managed to turn up a match yet. We're still searching databases, but you know what it's like – getting authority to search the files of states they haven't been reported operating in takes time – a lot of time."

Greg nodded his agreement – bureaucracy was the bane of the police force. Without access to the databases of every state in the country, it would be almost impossible to trace who the subjects were if they had started their criminal careers elsewhere. This siege would give them the authority to start chasing up on their identities.

"You have the photos?" he asked.

"I can have them emailed over," Wilson answered, pulling out his phone and dialling.

"Spike?"

"I'm on it Boss," came the steadfast reply of Greg's second.

"Sarge?" Lou put his head through the door of the command unit. Greg glanced up at him.

"The food and meds have arrived."

"All been checked?" The last thing any of them wanted was an unexpected surprise inside the bag when a jumpy subject opened it and discovered they'd just received someone's laundry.

"Went through it myself boss," Lou replied. Greg nodded, satisfied.

"Let's make the drop then."

"Sarge, Wordy and I would like to volunteer ourselves to deliver the package." It was standard procedure for two people to make the drop. One would hold a shield, the other would carry the package. Between them, they would advance on the building, and deliver the package to the hostage takers. It was notoriously risky – the subjects were usually wary of the deliverymen, and could get trigger happy. Greg nodded and a tired but proud smile found its way onto his face. They were more than just a team, they were family.

"Get yourselves ready. I'll go make the call." Lou vanished, and still smiling to himself, Greg dialled the bank.

As the shrill ring pierced the bank's almost quiet, Red gave Green a pat on the shoulder and walked away from him. Hidden from Red, Green's shoulder slumped slightly in relief as he stared ahead at the monitor. The masked man snatched up the receiver.

"You got what I want?" he demanded.

"Ok Red, we've got the food and the medication, and we're ready to bring them to you," Greg responded positively. "How's that list coming?"

"It's done."

"That's good news. I've got two men waiting to bring the bag to you just as soon as you're ready for…"

"No," Red interrupted him. "I'll send someone out. Be ready."

He dropped the receiver back into the cradle and scanned the room. His eyes, predictably, fell on Ed. The cop inclined his head in acceptance – he'd been listening; he knew what was coming. He wasn't exactly thrilled at the prospect of walking out into no man's land without a weapon or armour… He paused mid-thought, aware that Greg would have had his head for the war/us versus them analogy – just as well his boss wasn't _in_ his head, he decided wryly. He also recognised the beginnings of his coping mechanisms kicking in – thinking how his team would react, falling back on his training… The last two hours had been a lifetime, but he knew that when he turned from his team and returned to the bank, the walk would take ten times that long.

"Jacket off." Red looked down at him expectantly, and he started to shrug the coat from his shoulders wondering, ironically, if it was raining outside. Because that was his biggest worry right now. Coping mechanisms.

"Ed," Greg's voice sounded in his ear, calm but insistent. "You need to ditch the earwig, he's going to search you when you get back into the bank. Lose the earwig."

"And boots."

"You're kidding me, right?" Ed looked up into cold, unwavering eyes. "You're not kidding me." His left hand briefly rubbed the wound on his right cheek, and when it came away, the earwig was concealed behind his palm. Slowly, he unlaced his boots and tugged them from his feet. As he did so, he dropped the listening device inside. He paused and looked at Sam.

"I come back and I find any dead bugs in my boots I'mma fire your ass tomorrow, you hear me?" he joked, scratching his ear, praying for Sam to understand the message.

"Yes sir," Sam replied with his best faked grin.

Red, now used to the curious camaraderie between the two cops, ignored them both.

"Very touching. Socks as well." Red clearly wasn't taking any chances that Ed would attempt to conceal anything. Ed, for his part, was simply grateful that Red hadn't ordered him to strip completely – he'd never have lived it down. If he lived. The thought sobered him and he looked up at his captor, waiting for his next order.

"Up, let's go."

He got slowly to his feet and Red held out a sheet of folded paper. As he reached forward to take it, he felt every gun in the room on him. Every gun except Green's, who was still keeping below the radar, working the computer. Ed hoped he was transmitting something useful to the rest of his team.

As it happened, he was. In the command unit a message flashed urgently across Spike's monitor.

_Parker, get your family to safety. Now. He's sent someone._


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry its taken so long to get this chapter finished, I must have re-written it half a dozen times and I'm still not completely happy with it. It's my first attempt at emotional stuff, feedback appreciated. And just a quick heads up for some bad language towards the end. Thanks for your patience and support!**

* * *

Greg froze. He didn't just pause; his whole world stopped. He stared at the screen as years of training deserted him in an instant. _One moment can change everything. _He had to warn them, he had to get them out, he had to do _something._

A hand on his shoulder brought him back to the command truck and he blinked in surprise as Wilson's face snapped into focus.

"Their information is on file?" he asked. Greg could only nod in response, his voice robbed from him for the moment. Spike tapped a few buttons and the details of Greg's estranged wife and son sprang onto the screen.

"Good." Wilson pulled out his phone and dialled.

"This is Wilson. I need uniforms dispatched to an address in Texas." He paused, listening to the voice on the other end of the line. Spike thought he might have heard the word "jurisdiction."

"Yeah, I know. This is urgent. Get on the phone, pulls some strings, do whatever you gotta do." He covered the mouthpiece and looked at Greg.

"I've got this," he told him. "Go take care of your men. Go."

Greg knew he was right. There was nothing he could do from here, nothing that Wilson wasn't already doing. Right now, he had a dozen hostages in a bank who were counting on him to be sharp, to be at the top of his game. Ed and Sam were counting on him to be at the top of his game. He picked up the holdall Lou had left and stepped out of the truck. He had a job to do.

"Keep your hands where I can see them." Ed nodded. He was standing by the doors with the list in hand, ready to make the exchange. Red, behind him, was becoming increasingly nervous, as evidenced by his threats to the cop.

"You try anything and I'll make sure your mate dies screaming, understand?"

"I'm not going to try anything," Ed assured him as calmly as he could. "I'll just make the exchange, and come back."

"You better." Red unlocked the doors and pushed one open, warning Ed to keep his distance by turning the gun on him. Ed waited patiently, fighting the effects of the adrenaline as the armed robber stepped back and away from the door. Ed glanced over his shoulder at him, raised his hands, and stepped outside.

The night air was cool on his skin, and loose grit on the pavement bit into his bare feet, but he didn't feel any of it. Before him, the street was lit red and blue, and he felt for the first time the awe of a hostage witnessing the professionalism he took for granted. He fought down the instinct to run towards the barriers behind which his team mates stood, weapons ready. No matter how much he wanted to cross that barrier, he knew he couldn't. Wouldn't. Because inside the bank there was another of his team mates who needed him more. So slowly, with arms raised, he advanced barefoot on the barrier he could not cross, and the men he could not stand alongside.

"I have the solution," sounded Jules's tense voice in Greg's earpiece, her crosshairs fixed firmly on Red's masked face.

"Copy," Greg replied. They both knew she couldn't take the shot. If she did, she would be signing the death warrants of all the other hostages, Sam included. Greg wasn't ready to resort to the lethal solution yet – not while there was still a chance of talking the subjects down.

As Ed's steady pace brought him closer to the barrier between him and his team, Greg could make out the torn flesh on his face. He could feel the anger mounting inside him, but pushed it down. Anger had no place in a negotiation, nor would it help his friend and team mate.

"You're doing great Ed," Greg assured him with a weary smile as he reached the barrier.

Ed lowered his hands but kept them away from his body where they would be visible to Red, who would no doubt be watching from the bank's doors.

"We're looking to go less lethal, but we don't have any options with that kid in there," Greg updated him. Ed nodded; he had known the asthmatic would complicate his team's job.

"You're going to try to get her out?" Ed questioned. Greg nodded in response.

"I need you to try to make them more sympathetic towards her, remind them that she's just a kid, that she's innocent. I'm still hopeful that we can negotiate all of them out…"

"But we need to open up some options," Ed finished for him.

"Yup. But I can't connect to these guys unless I know who they are. Try to get them to talk about their past, where they're from, anything that might give us a lead on them. But don't push to hard, remember they're on edge, we don't want to re-escalate them. Keep working on the Stockholm." He glanced at the paper in Ed's hand, aware that allowing the exchange to take too long would draw Red's suspicion.

"That the list?" he asked the obvious question. Ed handed it to the negotiator, who in turn gave him the black holdall.

"Any surprises?" the sniper queried.

"There's a listening device sewn into the strap, it's got a better range than the earwig, it should pick up everything that's said in the room."

Ed gave a curt nod; there was nothing else to say. His eyes roamed the hive of activity behind the blockade, searching out his team mates.

Far behind the barrier, he caught a glimpse of Sophia, her back turned to him as Wordy spoke intently to her, one hand on her shoulder offering comfort. She turned; her woman's intuition, perhaps, alerting her to her husband's presence. For one moment their eyes met across the street and Ed felt his longing for her hit him like a physical force, threatening to overwhelm him. She pulled toward him, but Wordy saw the direction of her gaze and wrapped his arms around her, holding her back. She struggled for a moment, then collapsed against him, sobbing. Ed felt something inside him break, and his heart ached for her. How could he go back inside, knowing he might never see her again?

"Stay with me buddy," Greg said softly, drawing his friend's attention back to him.

"Yeah," Ed uttered hoarsely, dragging his eyes back to the sergeant's intense face.

"You're coming back to her Eddie," Greg promised. "I'll bring you back to her."

"I know," Ed said, looking into his friend's eyes and seeing the concern and sincerity there. He had to go back to the bank, had to do his duty – connect, respect, protect. But never before had something so right felt so wrong. With one last longing look at his beloved wife, he turned away and began the longest walk of his life.

Anyone watching Ed walk back to the bank would not know what was going through the sniper's mind. But Jules was not just anyone. She had seen Sophia, had heard Greg's words to Ed through her earpiece. She had seen his heart break as he walked away from his wife, and she had seen the effort it took for him to walk back into that bank. It was like she could see everything from up here – everything except the one thing she wanted to see – the one person she wanted to see. Sam. Through the bank's doors and high windows she could see only a fraction of the drama: several of the hostages (not Sam), and intermittently, one of the subjects. She felt so helpless up here! She wanted to be down there, outside the bank. _With all the other people not helping? she scorned herself. _Her place was up on this rooftop, with the Remmy in hand, waiting for her moment, waiting for her Scorpio. So why did it feel so wrong?

Greg had been right – both Ed and the bag had been thoroughly searched when he had stepped back inside the bank. When Blue reluctantly agreed he was carrying nothing, he had returned to Sam and reclaimed his socks and boots, glad to discover there was no longer an earwig inside. He was confident the other cop had removed it – had one of the gunmen found it, there would have been an entirely different reception awaiting him on his return to captivity. His jacket he had not pulled back on, but instead offered it to the distraught mother, who had gratefully wrapped it around her child, whose breathing had returned to normal once she had been given the medication. Once the four gunmen had taken their share of the food, they passed the remainder to the hostages – though Ed noted Red ensured the girl was the first to be offered food. Greg's plan was working: the group's leader was starting to show compassion to the child. He could only hope it would be enough to secure her release when the next contact came.

As if on cue, a shrill ringing shattered the quiet that had descended on the isolated building. Red stalked towards the phone and snatched it up.

"You got my van?" he demanded.

"I'm still working on that," came Greg's smooth voice.

"Then work faster. Clock's ticking."

"We're going as fast as we can Red – we want everyone out of there quickly and safely, the same as you." Greg didn't give the subject a chance to contradict the assumption, but carried on with an appeal to the robber's professionalism. "But its like I'm always telling my guys; if a job's worth doing, it's worth doing well, am I right? The last thing we want is to give you a vehicle that won't get you where you need to be."

There was nothing Red could say to debate this logic, so he chose instead to remain silent. His shoulders dropped and he perched on the edge of the desk, starting to relax a little.

"Are you planning on going a long way Red?"

"Just get me a van that ain't gonna fall apart." A trace of menace had returned to the voice. Greg didn't push, swiftly moving the conversation on.

"Ok, I'm going to keep working on that. While I'm doing that, maybe you can tell me, did the little girl get her medicine?"

"Yeah, she did." Greg could hear the subject starting to relax – this was a safe topic. Red had taken a risk to ensure the girl's safety; he'd shown his humanity. He felt good about it.

"She did?" He let his smile sound in his voice, showing his appreciation of the gunman's good deed. "That's good news, how's she doing now?"

"She's ok." No threat this time; no implication that she might not stay that way. Red was seeing the person, not the target.

"I'm glad to hear that Red; I'm glad you're looking after her. But you know what would be even better? If little Danielle could come out here so her Dad could look after her, and then you wouldn't have to."

There was silence on the line. Inside the bank, Red switched hands holding the phone and shifted further back onto the desk. Greg, watching him through the CCTV, knew that the subject was undecided. He needed to apply a little more pressure.

"No-one's trying to make you do anything you don't want to, but that little girl? She doesn't deserve to be caught in the middle of this; none of this is her fault. So maybe she gets to go home, be with her family, what do you think?"

"Yeah. Yeah, alright. But no-one else leaves, and if any of your men try to come in here I start shooting."

"You've made the right choice Red," Greg praised him.

"We'll see. No cops within 50 feet," Red re-emphasised his earlier demand. "She'll come to you."

The familiar dial tone sounded in Greg's ear, signalling the end of the conversation. A hand clapped him on the back in congratulation. He glanced over his shoulder to see Wilson's serious face with the traces of a smile on his lips. But the girl wasn't safe until she was out; a lot could go wrong in the next five minutes. Greg knew there was no time to waste. He spoke into his headset.

"Team, we've got a hostage being released. When she comes out, everyone needs to hold their positions – no-one breaches the perimeter; repeat – hold your positions. Jules, watch for any sign the subject is going to shoot – that seemed a little too easy. You have Scorpio if you need it. Lou, Wordy, I want you back on less lethal – I want options."

"Copy."

"Copy that."

"Copy."

As the voices echoed in his ear, Greg turned back to Wilson.

"Did you manage to contact Kate and Dean?" Wilson looked uncomfortable, but covered it quickly.

"Not yet. But there are uniforms on their way to the house right now, and my people are still trying the phones. We'll get to them, don't worry." Greg nodded, and forced his mind back to the current crisis. _One crisis at a time._

"Ok, tell me more about Nate. How did he come to be working for you?"

"He was a hacker – one of the best Toronto had seen in a long time. He was caught hacking into the PD's systems, moving data around, nothing major. So they offered him a choice: 12 months inside – or join the PD. He worked computer crime for 6 years. 2 years ago, I heard a whisper that these guys-" he nodded to the CCTV "-might be looking to recruit a hacker. So I asked Computers for someone with the skills and guts for the job. They sent me Nate."

Greg nodded, absorbing the information.

"Ok, what do you know about him before he joined up?"

As the conversation continued unseen inside the truck, a different sort of conversation was taking place inside the bank.

"I didn't have a choice," Red insisted.

"You show them weakness and they will fuck you over. We'll all be dead, or worse!" Blue spat. Red squared up to him.

"Are you disobeying an order?"

"An order? Who the fuck do you think you are?! I've been with you since day one, I've killed for you – you think you get to give me orders?!" He shoved Red backwards as his voice echoed in the suddenly silent room. Sam glanced at Ed and made to push himself to his feet, acutely aware that two of the three gunmen were too busy to notice what the hostages were doing. Ed placed a restraining hand on Sam's arm and shook his head – it was too risky. There would plenty of time for Black – or even Red or Blue – to fire off a shot before either of the cops could cover the distance. It was better to let the gunmen's solidarity continue to weaken than to risk uniting them against a common enemy. Red gloves wrapped around Blue's throat and pinned him against the nearest wall.

"I have been saving your ass since day one – have I _ever_ made a single decision that hasn't worked out right for you? Even one?" He dropped his arms and took a step back.

"So yeah, I get to give the orders."

Both men were breathing heavily. Blue held Red's gaze for a long three seconds before relenting and nodding.

"Ok, we'll do it your way."

Black glanced from one to another, and then spoke up.

"If you two ladies have finished fucking around, how 'bout you do something useful for a change?"

A hush descended on the bank. Red turned on the man, glaring at him, then laughter burst from them both, and the tension of a moment ago was banished.

"Right, let's get this done. Get the kid." Red walked to the computer and spoke into Green's ear. Green nodded, and began tapping buttons.

Meanwhile, Black tucked his gun into his waistband as he approached the mother and child, then crouched in front of the pair. The woman's eyes flicked uncertainly to the cops next to her and then back to the gunman.

"She needs to come with me now," Black told her softly. The woman let out a sob and drew her daughter closer.

Sam's eyes fell on the pistol's grip, calculating the distance he would have to reach, and the time it would take Black to react. Ed saw the direction of his stare, and shook his head angrily.

"It's ok," Black told the woman gently. "She's going to be safe now – she's going outside. Do you understand?"

The woman nodded shakily, and released her grip on the child. She kissed the girl on the cheek, and whispered unsteady words that only Danielle and Sam heard.

"It's ok baby. This man's going to take you to Daddy. I love you my darling." She wiped the tears from her eyes as she urged the girl to take the gunman's outstretched hand. Uncertainly, the child allowed the black-encased fingers to encircle her hand, and lead her away from her mother.

"Why didn't you let me get the gun?" Sam whispered angrily to his superior.

"Your heroics are going to get someone killed. We work as a team in this unit." He glanced at the retreating gunman from the corner of his eye. "You got the earwig?"

"Yeah. I-" Sam's response was cut short as Blue's malevolent eyes fell on them from across the room.

By the computer, Red collected a sheet of paper from the printer and stuffed in into an envelope. Across the front, he scrawled "Parker".

"Movement by the doors," Jules's voice sounded through the radio. All attention turned to the bank's doors, which slowly started to open. Behind the barrier, Greg glanced both ways along the perimeter line, and spoke into his radio, reminding the waiting cops to hold their positions. A man stood outlined in the doorway with the child beside him.

"It's Ed," Jules informed the rest of the team as she identified her team mate through the Remmy's scope.

He crouched down beside the frightened girl, and pointed to Greg as he spoke into her ear. Jules saw the girl smile in response to Ed's words, and then nod with a seriousness beyond her years. Ed spoke again, and the girl started forwards, across the deserted street. A hand appeared from behind the bank's door and fell on Ed's shoulder, dragging him back inside. The doors shut, and the subject, along with Ed, vanished from sight.

As the girl came closer to the barrier, Greg reached out a hand to her.

"Come on Danielle, just a bit further."

She ducked beneath the barrier and hugged the negotiator's legs. He crouched down and embraced her.

"It's ok, it's ok, it's over, you're safe," he told her gently as she sobbed against him.

"I want my mummy," the girl cried.

"I know, I know. She'll be here soon, I promise. But right now, mummy needs you to wait with this man, ok?"

An EMT stood nearby, ready to steer the girl into an ambulance to await her father, who was still half an hour away. The girl nodded bravely and took the EMT's hand, but then stopped and held out a crumpled envelope to the cop.

"The man said I had to give you this."

Greg took the envelope that had his name scrawled across the front. He tore it open and pulled out the single piece of paper inside. It was badly printed, and the image was grainy. But there was no mistaking it. It was a photo of Kate and Dean, and they were both gagged.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Ok, these things are starting to become a bad habit for me. Just a quick note (again) to thank everyone for their reviews. I know I suck at getting round to replying to them, it's usually because I'm too busy grinning like a Cheshire cat! Leverage is starting to come to a close, there's probably only a couple of chapters left to write. I haven't decided what I'll be writing next, so please feel free to message me if there's something you'd specifically like to read... but uh, no Sam/Jules or excessive Spikeness - far too hard!**

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For the longest moment he just stared numbly at the photo of his ex-wife and son. _His family._ At least, they had been, until he'd thrown it all away. Thrown them away. All they had asked for was him to be a good husband and a good father, _to care,_ and he had failed them. And now he was failing them again. They were abducted, tied up and terrified, in mortal danger. Because of him. Because of his job. His job had taken his family from him once before, and now it threatened to do so again. Permanently.

If Ed was here, he would know what to say, know how to pull Greg from the oblivion that threatened to swallow him But Ed wasn't there to save him from himself. Today, it was Greg's job to save Ed. With shaking hands, he flipped the photo, where just two words were scrawled in black ink.

_Van – now. _

For one moment, just one crazy moment, Greg considering giving them what they wanted. But then the moment was gone, and he knew that he could not. He drew a shaky breath to stiffen his resolve, squared his shoulders and walked back to the command truck.

Hands patted him on the back as he passed through the gathered cops, congratulating him on the girl's safe release. He ignored them all, pushing towards the lone black vehicle. Inside its safe haven, he ignored the questioning looks and placed the photo on the desk. Silence descended on the group as they stared at the picture. Spike's voice sounded from far away, speaking into the auto transcriptor.

"20:37 – Lead negotiator's family taken hostage. Proof of life delivered via released hostage."

"I'm sorry Greg." It was Wilson who was speaking. Greg struggled to focus on his face. "I just got the report. When the uniforms got there, they were gone. The door was kicked in, but there was no blood, you hear me? There was no blood – no sign that anyone was hurt." He picked up the photo and scrutinized the faces staring out at him. Greg fought the urge to snatch the picture back, to hold on to the one piece of his family he had left. Wilson continued speaking, trying to comfort the negotiator.

"They're both alive, neither of them look like they're in pain." He placed the picture back down. "The uniforms are going door to door – it happened in the early evening, in the middle of a busy street. They were desperate, they wouldn't have had time to cover their tracks. Someone has to have seen something. We'll find them."

"Yeah. Yeah, sure." Greg barely recognised the voice as his own, it was so hoarse and empty; deflated. Wilson left the truck, sensing Parker's need to be alone with his team. Spike was silent, for once he had no jokes, nothing to lighten the team sergeant's load. He stared down at his hands, wishing he could offer support to the man who had supported the rest of the team through so much. In the end he settled for something straight forward.

"We'll get them back, Boss."

"Thanks Spike," he muttered, pulling out his mobile phone. He couldn't put it off any longer. The inspector had to be updated.

"Inspector, there's been a development – we've got a problem," he began, a trace of steel finding its way back into his voice now that he was being pro-active. "It's my ex-wife and son – they've been abducted."

Spike briefed the team on the latest development as Greg explained the situation fully to the inspector. A shocked silence fell over the radios, the usual chatter and banter banished as the team absorbed the information.

"Sir, I understand your concern, but I can maintain objectivity," the negotiator spoke sincerely into the handset. "We change negotiator and they'll know something's wrong. We've only got one chance to end this peacefully. We have to let them believe we're giving them what they want." He paused as the inspector reluctantly agreed with him.

"Yes sir, I'll keep you updated."

"Sarge?" Spike said uncertainly as his boss ended the call. "We've got a new message from Nate."

He leaned over Spike's shoulder, reading the message blinking on screen.

Am trying to trace origin of photo. Think Red is becoming suspicious. Am going to hack into SRU communications in 5 minutes. Please do not broadcast sensitive information.

"Is he asking us or telling us?" Lou questioned.

"With the skills he's got, there's probably nothing we could do to stop him," Spike put in. "Wilson said he was a top rate hacker before they signed him up, and now he's got 6 years experience working for Computer Crimes."

"You mean the incredible Spike couldn't stand in his way?"

"Well, I could maybe blow up his terminal…"

"We can use this." Greg's voice silenced the pair. They both looked at him, awaiting an explanation. He obliged them.

"We can feed them mis-information, make them think that we're giving them what they want. Tell Nate to make sure they're listening."

Spike nodded and started typing his message to the trapped agent. Greg spoke into his headset.

"Ok team, in a few minutes the subjects are going to have access to our radio feed. Maintain radio silence. All communication through cell phones only."

Green read the on screen consent with relief, and closed the conversation window. He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Red approaching.

"I've got something. Give me two minutes, and we'll be able to hear every word they say."

"Nice," came the leader's approval. He pulled up a chair to the desk, and watched the hacker at work. Green cloaked fingers were a blur as they hammered the keys, sending a hundred commands through cyber space to intercept the radio waves travelling 50 feet away.

"Grab some headphones," he said to Red, aware that he needed to warn the SRU he was ready to broadcast. Red spun away, grabbing a pair of earphones that lay discarded on a nearby desk. Green took the opportunity to tap out a message to the waiting cops. It simply said:

30 seconds.

He closed the window a split second before Red returned.

"Ok, we're in."

They shared the headphones between them, one earpiece each, and instantly Parker's voice filtered through.

"Ok team, the inspector's made a decision. We're letting them leave."

"Sarge?" came Spike's questioning tones.

"The inspector is granting their demands. The possibility for the loss of life is deemed too great. Snipers, stand down. Repeat: snipers stand down."

"What's the ETA on the van?" This was Lou.

"Half an hour. We've sent a police escort to try to cut through the traffic, but they don't think they can get across the city faster than that."

"Copy that." Spike again. "You want a GPS tracker fitted?"

"No." Greg's voice cut across quickly. "We can't take the risk. If they come out without any hostages we let them make a clean break. When they exit the building, lower your weapons, do no engage."

"Sniper One standing down," Jules confirmed.

The team continued with the idle chatter they had been briefed on moments before, but Red was no longer listening. His hands gripped Green's shoulders in excitement.

"We're getting out of here." Exhilaration battled disbelief in his voice, and the other gunmen picked up on his enthusiasm. Blue laughed and clapped him on his shoulder.

"You jammy son of a bitch," he congratulated him. Black embraced him, unable to find the words of relief and celebration. Sam shot Ed a quizzical look; Ed shook his head fractionally. He had reclaimed the earwig just a moment before, but he knew from his team's choice of words that what had been broadcast was a subterfuge. Jules would never have referred to herself as Sniper One – she was always proud to be made _Sierra_ One. Today, he reflected, must be another Jules Day.

In a few minutes, Greg knew, Nate would let out a curse and claim the system had detected his presence and booted him: it would take at least another hour to get back in. The radios would be secure again. He listened to the feed sent to the truck via the bug inside the holdall. It was good news – the gunmen had fallen for the ruse. A van would indeed arrive outside the bank in about half an hour, but the gunmen would not be escaping in it. If Greg had been unable to talk the subjects down by that time, the SRU would gain entry via the front and rear doors and take them down by force. He could only hope to stall long enough for Kate and Dean to be found.

"We're getting another message from Nate," Spike announced, breaking into his thoughts. "He's still trying to trace where the photo came from, but it looks like bad news – it was sent via a cyber cafe."

"But this was done in a hurry, right?" Wordy put in. "They wouldn't have had time to go far. They must be holding Kate and Dean within, what-" he looked to Spike for confirmation "-10, 15 miles of the cyber cafe?"

Spike nodded with growing excitement, picking up his train of thought.

"So we get them on the phone and trace the signal, limiting the scan to a 15 mile radius of the cyber cafe. With the restricted search area, it'll take seconds. Wordy, you're a genius."

"I try Spike, I do try."

"I'll make the call," Greg said, breaking his silence. As he picked up the phone, he desperately tried to detach himself from the situation. He had to forget they were his family, and starting thinking about them as bargaining chips if he was to keep his promise to the inspector and maintain objectivity. He was the negotiator. He just had to do his job. The phone rang half a dozen times before he saw Red lift the receiver on the CCTV monitor.

"Hi Red, it's Greg Parker here," he said, not giving the subject the chance to speak first. He had to gain the upper hand if this was to work.

"You got my message?" demanded the cold voice.

"Yeah, I got it," Greg confirmed. "Let's just slow things down a bit, ok? No one needs to get hurt here."

"And no one will, if you get me what I need."

"The van's on its way, I just need you be to patient for me. It's going to be here in half an hour."

"Half an hour. No games." The voice was cold and threatening, and Greg sensed some discomfort with the methods he had used to attain his goal.

"No games," he mirrored.

"Anyone tries to stop us, your kid dies. Anyone tries to follow us, he dies. You want him to live then you stay out of my way."

"I hear you. I just want my family back." _Make him see the person, not the target._

"Good. When we're clear of the city I'll give you the address."

"I to need to confirm they're ok before you leave the building. I need to speak to them."

"Call me back in five minutes."

The all too familiar dial tone sounded once more in Greg's ear, and he sank back into his chair, allowing a relived smile to slip onto his lips. He had done it – in five minutes he would speak to his family, and trace where they were being held. The smile dissolved as he acknowledged that had been the easy part, and there was still a lot that could go wrong.

"Ok, we're on. Make sure we're ready to start the trace in five minutes."

Wilson nodded and started dialling his mobile phone: he had started acting as the unofficial liaison between themselves and the Texan PD. With a guilty pang Greg remembered that one of his men was in there too – and was putting himself in great personal danger to ensure the safety of Greg's ex-wife and son.

The next five minutes were the longest of his life. For years he had dreamed of hearing Dean's voice again, but never for one moment had he imagined it would happen like this. He glanced at his watch again – he had already done so more times than he could count. It was time. He would not fail them again.

The phone rang just once before Red snatched it up and snapped into it:

"We make this quick. You start asking dumb questions and I will cut you off, got it?" He sounded on edge, and by "dumb questions" Greg assumed he meant anything relating to their captors. He needed to put Red at ease if they were to have enough time to trace the call.

"Ok, I hear you. I just want to make sure they're ok," Greg assured him.

"Fine. Remove the block on my cell phone and I'll call them." Smart guy, Greg mused. He'd realised it wasn't a coincidence that his phone had mysteriously lost its signal at about the same time the SRU had arrived on the scene.

"Ok." He nodded to Spike, whose fingers leapt into life on the keyboard. A moment later, he nodded back.

"It's done," Greg told the gunman.

"Good. Wait a minute." Greg heard the sounds of Red dialling out. A moment later the bug picked up the sounds of his conversation.

"It's me. Put the kid on."

The next voice came through the bank's phone line as Red activated the mobile's built in loud-speaker.

"D…Dad?" It was Dean, and Greg had to fight the urge to weep with relief as he heard his boy's voice for the first time in 8 years.

"Dean… Dean, it's me. It's Dad. You're going to be ok, you hear me? Did they hurt you?"

"No…" Dean sounded close to breaking and Greg heard him sniff before continuing. "No, I'm ok… I just… I'm scared Dad."

"I know, I know," Greg attempted to sooth him, but found his own voice sounded choked. "Just hang in there, ok? I need you to be strong Dean, can you do that for me?"

"I…Yeah," Dean stuttered, sounding uncertain.

"That's good Dean, that's real good." Pride and panic battled it out in the father's voice. Dean's mother had raised him well. If Greg had been there, would things have been different?

"How's your mum doing?"

"She's ok, she's not hurt." Dean's voice sounded stronger, and Greg found pride winning the battle inside him.

"Good boy Dean. Just keep doing what they tell you, ok? You're going to be fine, I promise. I'm proud of you."

"That's enough." Dean was gone, replaced by Red's hardened tones. Greg forced himself to take a breath and regain his composure. Red continued. "He's alive. If you want him to stay that way, get me my van."

He hung up, and Greg was left with empty silence. On the other side of the command unit, Wilson muttered into his phone and ended his call. All eyes in the truck fell on him: Spike's were expectant, Wordy's were sympathetic, Lou's were concerned and Greg's were pleading.

Wilson cracked a smile.

"We've got it."


	8. Chapter 8

"21:17 – Entry teams in position." It was a measure of his discipline that Greg was able to keep his voice steady as he spoke into the auto transcriptor. There were two teams poised to enter the building and subdue the subjects on Greg's word. Alpha team, concealed in a corridor just inside the rear entrance, consisted of Lou, Wordy and Spike. Bravo team was made up of Donna, Darrel and Mark from team three, and was positioned just outside the front entrance. The teams were ready to deploy flash-bangs and take down the subjects using less lethal means – in this case, rubber bullets – if necessary.

Just minutes before, they had received word from the Texan police force that Kate and Dean had been located, thanks to the trace on the phone call. There was one confirmed subject inside the building, now surrounded by armed police. They were not anticipating any casualties. The two buildings would be raided simultaneously to eliminate the risk of the subjects warning each other.

Greg picked up the phone. His job was to distract the subjects, thereby giving them less time to react to the entry teams, and so reducing the potential for injury. He had decided to feign compliance with the demands until the last moment. The van was parked outside the bank as a decoy: while the subjects were celebrating their imminent escape, Greg would give the word for the entry teams to make their move.

"Yeah?" The phone had rung for just a few seconds before Red responded.

"I've got some good news for you Red."

"The van?" he asked, his voice laced with anticipation.

"Right outside the bank, keys in the ignition, just like you wanted."

Red covered the mouthpiece, but Greg heard him through the holdall's bug.

"Black, go check out the front."

Black detached himself from the group, leaving just Blue to watch the hostages, and peered out of a shuttered window.

"It's there," he said, staring at the ignition barrel through the van's open door to confirm that the keys were indeed where they should be. Everyone in the room visibly relaxed – gunmen and hostages – everyone, in fact, except Ed, Sam, and Nate.

Greg covered the phone and spoke with whispered urgency into his headset.

"Go, go, go!"

Red's voice sounded through Greg's phone as he returned it to his ear.

"We see it."

"Ok Red, now its like we spoke about…" A loud bang travelled through the phone line and Greg stopped speaking. The entry teams were in.

"Drop your weapons, drop your weapons!"

Blue had been caught completely unawares, and the flash bangs had temporarily stunned him, so when he found himself staring down the barrels of two vicious looking weapons he made his first sensible choice of the day and did as he was told. The gun slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground, the sound completely masked by the commotion in the rest of the room. Wordy and Spike stopped to contain the subject, Wordy pulling out his cuffs as Spike ordered the subject to the ground. Lou proceeded onwards, scanning the room for the other subjects. Ed, recovering from the blast, crouched low amongst the hostages, and started directing them through the door behind Lou.

Bravo team had been less successful. Red, positioned by the phone and furthest from both entry teams, had had more time to react.

"Fall back," he screamed at Black, firing off a shot at the armed cops. Donna was thrown to the ground, winded by the bullet, but managed gasp into her radio:

"No harm, no harm, it's in the vest." Darrel grabbed her vest and started dragging her towards cover, while Mark turned and fired at Red, narrowly missing as he fell back amongst the hostages.

Black had heard the shouted warning and was backing away; his gun was raised but he seemed unsure where to point it.

Mark had his weapon aimed at Red, but as he merged with the hostages he knew he could not take the shot. Sam knew the time had come to make his move. Keeping low, he moved through the hostages, and threw himself at the gunman. Across the room, Black saw the sudden movement, and found his target. He squeezed the trigger, and the blonde cop collapsed to the floor. Blood began to leak from the wound.

"Officer down, officer down," Spike shouted urgently, sliding down next to Sam and raising his weapon to protect him from further fire. "Sam's hit!"

A second gunshot sounded, and this time it was Black who slid to the ground, staring in surprise at the blood seeping through his jacket. Behind him, Green stood, his weapon still pointed at the injured subject. Wordy had seen it all from beside Blue, and moved in quickly to contain him.

"No!" Red had seen his comrade fall, and glanced desperately around him. His eyes, filled with malice, locked onto Ed and he grabbed the cop from behind, grinding the gun against his temple.

"I've got nothing left to lose," he growled the cop, "so don't give me an excuse."

Ed, who had not seen Red as he hurried to hostages to safety, stood stock still, intent on following the advice his captor had given him.

In the same moment, one of the hostages broke her away from the rest heading to the exit, and lunged at Green, knocking the gun from his hand. He stared at her in shock as she raised the weapon and pointed it at him.

The whole room seemed to come to a standstill.

"Hostage has weapon, hostage has weapon," reported Mark frantically. A split second later, Lou broke in.

"Subject has weapon to Ed's head. Boss, what do I do?"

The whole operation was starting to fall apart, and Greg knew he had to stop the panic and restore order if they were to contain the situation without any loss of life. He made a decision.

"Mark, consider the hostage a threat. Warn her, and react as necessary. Lou, do you have a shot?"

"Drop your weapon or I will shoot," Mark shouted at the now armed hostage, but she ignored him, instead pulling Nate in front of her as a human shield.

"Negative," Lou replied to his superior as Red advanced on him, keeping Ed between himself and the armed cop. Ed, feeling the barrel pressing into his temple, did not resist.

"Get out of my way or I'll blow his fucking brains out!" Red yelled at him.

"Boss?" Lou asked desperately.

"Fall back Lou, but do it slowly. Stall for time," Greg answered calmly. "Does anyone have a shot?"

"No joy," four voices answered almost simultaneously. The female hostage had dragged Nate towards Red, so now she and the only remaining subject were back to back.

"Move!" Red yelled again. Lou licked his lips nervously.

"Ok. Just take it easy, ok?" He took a slow step backwards.

"Someone give me options," Greg snapped, forced to watch his team's peril through the CCTV.

"Sarge, if we get them outside I might be able to find the solution," Jules suggested from her rooftop perch. They both knew it was a risk: if Jules couldn't get the shot then there would be nothing standing between the subjects and the van.

"Copy that. Entry teams fall back."

Lou lowered his weapon and stepped back. Throughout the room, the rest of the entry team did the same. Slowly, not quite believing what he was seeing, Red advanced towards the door, with the former hostage and Nate behind him. The SRU officers fell away, and the subjects stepped outside.

"Jules?" Greg asked anxiously.

"I've got nothing Sarge – Nate's in the way." The taller male was obstructing her shot of the female hostage-turned-hostage-taker.

"Sierra two?" he questioned.

"No solution," came the stoic reply from the sniper positioned on the opposite rooftop.

Greg felt a stab of frustration. The quartet was rapidly approaching the van and he was out of options.

"Alpha team, back to the cars, get ready to pursue. Bravo team, contain the hostages and stay with the secured subject. I want to know everything he knows. Sierra One, pack it up and get in the ambulance – stay with the injured subject. Sierra Two, hold your position, keep looking for the solution."

Ed offered no resistance as he was dragged in the van after Red. The gunman was panicking and Ed knew better than to give a desperate, armed man reason to panic further. Calm people made calm, rational decisions. Panicking people pulled triggers.

"Over there, sit down," Red order, gesturing with the gun. Ed nodded.

"Ok." Slowly, he moved to the other side of the van and sank to the floor, his back pressed against the cold metallic side. Nate was dragged into the vehicle and thrown against the wall next to him. The sound of the door slamming echoed in his ears, and the van pulled away.

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**A/N: eep, I can practically feel the crosshairs on me. Um, if you Scorpio me, you'll never find out if Sam lives, you know that, right? Right?**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: As promised, here's the final chapter, and in celebration, I'll save most of the Author's Notes for the end! Enjoy :)**

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As Jules sat in the back of the ambulance, she stared across at Sam in numb silence. How had it come to this? Ed had always said that one day Sam's heroics would get someone killed… and tonight it had come so close. Two inches down, the EMTs said, and he would have bled out before they could get to him. Instead, the bullet had lodged in his shoulder. He was unconscious, but, baring any complications, he would live. Never had Jules felt relief like it, but now she just felt tired, numbed from all the emotions flowing through her.

Her eyes drifted across the ambulance to where the medic worked on the subject known to them only as "Black." His wound was more serious – Nate's bullet had stuck his abdomen and was still inside him. The medics would not say what his chances were, so Jules knew it was touch and go. They had removed his balaclava, and she saw he was young – mid twenties perhaps. She wondered what in his life had led him to this moment, and found to her surprise that she hoped he would be ok, this man who had shot Sam. She wasn't sure if it was wrong to feel that way, but it seemed like somehow his and Sam's fates were linked, and that if one died, so might the other. But most of all, she wanted him to live so he could tell them who Red was, and how he could be convinced to release Ed.

The rest of the team were heading in the opposite direction, following the GPS installed in the van from a distance. The air was heavy with anticipation, but there were none of the usual jokes to pass the time. Everyone knew what was at stake.

"The subject's name is Meg Collins," came Winnie's voice through the team's headset. "She's been a hostage at every robbery carried out by these guys. I'm sorry Sarge, I don't know how I missed this."

"What else do we know about her?" Greg questioned.

"She's 29 years old, no fixed abode. Looks like she's been staying in motels and moving on when the job's done."

"Definitely an accomplice then," Wordy put in.

"Ok, get on the phone to the last motel she stayed at, see what you can find out," Greg told her.

"Already done sarge. She's been visited several times a week, sounds like a boyfriend – the receptionist says he always left the following morning."

"Red?"

"Hold on, I'm just receiving a still from the CCTV footage."

No one seemed able to breath as the seconds trickled by. It seemed like a lifetime before Winnie spoke again.

"Sarge, I've got a match. Her visitor was the subject shot by Nathan Young."

"So how long have you been screwing her?" Nate questioned his former accomplice. "And how long have the pair of you been screwing the team?"

Red levelled his gun at Nate's head, and for a moment Ed thought the undercover cop would be shot right there, but instead Red reached forward and pulled the balaclava from his face. He pulled the gun back and pistol whipped the cop. A small split opened on his cheek, and Red's lips twitched into a smile as he watched the blood leak from it.

"You don't know shit."

"So why don't you tell us?" Ed asked softly.

"No, shut up," Red ordered him; waving the gun at the cop. Ed closed his mouth and nodded mutely.

"No more talk, no more games, no more LIES!"

He jammed the gun's barrel against the cop's forehead. Ed froze, barely drawing breath, his eyes level with the red encased finger that was wrapped around the trigger. He was a quarter of an inch from death. A twitch, a bump in the road… His mouth went dry and he felt the sweat start seeping from his brow. He wished he'd told Sophia that he loved her this morning. Would he get a chance to tell her tonight?

He felt the pressure ease as Red backed off: he had made his point. They drove for a few minutes more in silence before the van jerked to a stop. Ed knew the rest of the team wouldn't be far behind. He had to find some way of stalling Red and his accomplice. He had heard Winnie's report through the earwig: time was running out for the undercover cop. The back doors swung open to reveal Black's girlfriend. Ed had barely glanced at her in the bank – that, of course, was the idea of a plant – but he saw now that she would be pretty, were it not for the malice distorting her features as she stared at Nate. Her gaze switched to the sniper.

"Hands on your head," she ordered him coldly. He obeyed, avoiding eye contact for the moment. She was looking for a fight, and Ed did not intend of giving her one.

"Get out." He moved slowly towards the doors and jumped out, struggling for a second to keep his balance without his hands. Her hand gripped the back of his tee shirt and steered him forward. He took the opportunity to look around, and saw they were in a clearing, behind what looked like a small woods. He glanced furtively about for a fallen branch – a weapon – but found nothing.

His eyes settled on Red as he jumped out of the van, and then turned back to Nate.

"Hands." With a glance at Ed, Nate obeyed, interlocking his fingers behind his head. As he stepped cautiously towards the edge of the van, Red grabbed him and tossed him to the ground. The cop grunted as he hit the dirt, shielding his head and rolling with the motion. Ed instinctively started forward to help him.

"Don't," Red warned him, turning his gun on the sniper. "This isn't your fight. Do what you're told and you still might get to see your wife again."

"Must be nice," he continued, turning back to Nate. "To be able to see your family. You took that from me. My brother's dead because of you!" As he yelled the words, his boot slammed viciously into the hacker's ribs.

The SUV had suddenly become a hive of activity as team one received the feed from the earwig.

"Jules, did you get that?" Greg asked.

"Every word Sarge," she replied. "The surgeons are working on the subject now. Looks like its not as bad as they first thought – there's a chance he might pull through."

"That's good news Jules, keep me posted. Ed, if you can hear me, you need to try and separate the subjects. They both have an emotional link to the injured subject, they're going to escalate each other. If we can separate them we have a better chance of talking them down."

He broke off, and turned in his seat to address the team.

"Sarge?" Winnie's voice interrupted him.

"Go ahead Winnie."

"I've just heard from Sergeant Wilson. The operation in Texas was a success. Kate and Dean are safe, and the subject is in custody."

Greg finally remembered to breath again and leaned back in his seat. His hand came up and wiped his forehead, seemingly of its own accord. He took another shaky breath, trying to let the news sink in.

"Thanks Winnie," was all he could croak into his mike.

Nate swayed unsteadily on his feet, staring blankly ahead. Red's fist smashed into his jaw and threw him from his feet. He hit the ground hard and groaned, spitting blood onto the dry dirt. He lay there breathing hard, making no attempt to move.

Twenty feet away, Ed watched helplessly as the cop received the beating, forcing himself to keep his face neutral. He was on his knees with his fingers interlocked behind his head. To his side and just beyond his line of sight, Meg stood with her gun trained on the sniper. He turned his head to look at the gunwoman.

"It was Black you were dating, wasn't it?" he asked softly. Meg eyed him suspiciously. "You risked everything. For what? For revenge?" His eyes flicked back to Nate in time to see Red's boot hit his stomach. "Do you think it's worth it? What's this going change, huh?"

"When he dies _screaming_, then it'll be worth it. Then I'll have done Aaron justice." Ed saw the fanaticism burning in her eyes, and knew he would never convince her otherwise. He wouldn't try. He could only hope the rest of the team would get there in time. As if on cue, Greg's voice sounded in his ear.

"Stick with it Ed, we've just arrived. Spike and Wordy are heading to you through the woods. I need you to keep Meg focussed on you."

Ed caught himself just in time from replying with a 'copy that,' and instead kept his attention on Meg.

"And what happens then? When he's dead? You think revenge will help you move on? It doesn't work like that. I'm a cop, I've killed people, and you know what? It stays with you. Every second, every time you close your eyes, it's there waiting for you. When you look in the mirror, you see their faces. That's what you want?"

"I want to remember the moment he dies for the rest of my life." Her voice was cold and steady. She opened her mouth to speak again. Wordy grabbed her from behind, and Ed rose to his feet in one easy motion. His hands closed around the weapon and slid it easily from her grip.

"No! Sean!" Wordy wrestled her to the ground as Spike slapped the handcuffs around her wrists.

"Go, I've got this," he urged the other man. Wordy glanced at him, then got to his feet, sprinting over to the last remaining subject. Ed followed at an exhausted jog. With a quick look at his watch, Spike gasped into his radio,

"23:18 – Subject Meg Collins contained."

Greg stood, half shielded by Lou, taking in the scene before him. Red – Sean – forewarned by the girl, had seen their arrival, and dragged the beaten hacker up onto his knees, and now had his gun pointed at his head. Lou's gun was raised and aimed at the subject. Wordy arrived behind the pair and raised his weapon.

"I have the solution," he said softly.

"Sarge," Winnie broke in over the radio. "I've got an ID on the subject. His name is Sean Carter, his brother is Aaron Carter."

"Sean," Greg began. "Sean, my name is Greg Parker, we spoke earlier." Sean stared back at him, hostile eyes glaring out from the balaclava.

"No other siblings. Their mother died when they were young. They were raised by their father," Winnie supplied. "Numerous visits to the hospital, both boys were treated for broken bones on several occasions. Father was killed in a suspected burglary gone wrong when Sean was 18."

They could all read between the lines. The father had beaten his sons, and when Sean had turned 18, he had had enough. He retaliated, killed his father, made it look like a burglar got carried away. Wordy suppressed the urge to lower his gun. Sure, Sean might have been a victim once, but he had made his choice. Now he was the one holding a gun, threatening to take someone's life.

"Sean, I need you to put the gun down," Greg continued.

"Not gonna happen," the gunman ground out. Greg saw Spike leading the restrained woman past the group.

"Put her in the car," he said softly.

"No!" Sean demanded. "She stays here or he dies!" Greg gave Spike a small nod.

"Ok Sean, she can stay. What's this all about?"

"You know what this is about!" Sean snapped. "It's about him killing my brother! It's about him getting what he deserves. Aaron was all I had – and _he_ took it from me!"

"Sean, that's not what happened. Aaron's not dead. Nathan's bullet didn't kill him_._ He's getting the help he needs."

Sean stared at him mutely.

"Bull!" yelled Meg, straining against Spike's grip. "He's a liar! You owe Aaron this!"

"I'm telling you the truth Sean. We got Aaron to the hospital, the doctors are with him right now."

"Aaron's dying, and he's the man responsible! Kill him!" Spike moved his hand up to gag the woman, wincing as she bit into him through the glove, but determined not to let her speak again.

"Sean, pulling that trigger won't change anything. The doctors are doing everything they can. Killing Nate won't help him."

"Is he… is he going to live?" Greg's instinct was to tell Sean his brother would be fine, but he knew better than to lie to a subject in one on one negotiation.

"I'm not going to lie to you Sean, I don't know. But I do know you've got nothing to gain here. Put the gun down."

Sean looked down at Nate. He was bloodied and bruised and barely conscious. He still wore his green gloves, but they were smeared with blood and dirt.

"Get out of here." Lou needed no further invitation to reach out his hand to the beaten cop. Nate grasped it, and Lou helped him up, pulling him to safety behind the two SRU men. From there, Ed took over, looping the hacker's arm around his shoulder, and helping him over to the team's SUV.

Meg tossed her head, slipping free from Spike's hand-gag.

"You coward!" she accused Sean. "You gutless piece of…" She was cut off abruptly as Spike shoved his hand back over her mouth.

"Get her out of here," Greg ordered. Spike didn't hesitate to obey. Sean stared down at the gun in his hand, and his eyes started to fill with tears. Greg knew what was coming before it happened.

"Jules, give me good news," he muttered urgently into his mike as Sean raised the weapon and placed it against his own head.

"Sean, calm down. Think about what you're doing Sean," Greg pleaded.

"I've got nothing left – nothing!" Sean's voice was starting to break up – time was running out.

"Boss," came Jules's voice over the radio. "Aaron's out of surgery. He's stable."

"That's not true Sean. I've just heard from the hospital. Aaron's stable. He's going to be fine."

"You're lying," Sean accused the negotiator.

"I wouldn't do that Sean. Aaron's ok, I promise you."

"Prove it," he demanded. Greg nodded.

"Ok, I'm going to start working on that, but I need you to stay calm for me, can you do that Sean?"

The masked man nodded numbly.

"Ok, that's good." Into his mike, he said quietly; "Jules, is Aaron conscious?"

"They're just bringing him round Sarge."

"Ok, have you got your Blackberry with you?"

"Um…" He could hear Jules rummaging through her pockets. "Yeah, I've got it. What are you think thinking?"

"Take a video of him and send it to me."

"Sarge…" She sounded uncertain. "He's no Hugh Dillon, he's not exactly gonna be singing and dancing."

"Doesn't matter Jules. Just make sure he looks alive."

"Copy that."

"Ok Sean, it's coming. Just stay with me, ok?" He kept one hand on Lou's vest, and with the other reached into his pocket and pulled out his Blackberry. Sean watched him suspiciously.

"When Aaron gets better, he's going to need you to look out for him, just like you always have. He still needs you Sean. Who else has he got? No-one else has ever looked out for him, not like you have. He needs you to be there for him."

Greg's phone buzzed, and he glanced down at it. One new video message. He brought it up.

"It's right here Sean. Here's your proof." He tossed the phone to Sean's feet, taking care not to get too close to the volatile man. Sean dropped into a crouch and picked the phone up, still keeping the gun to his head. He pressed play. Aaron's face filled the screen, pale and drawn. But breathing. The sound of his breath filled the air around Sean, and the gunman let out a strangled sob as the eyes on screen flickered and slowly opened. He looked at the camera in confusion and blinked.

"Aaron… Aaron," Sean sobbed, dropping the gun and grasping the phone with both hands. Around him became a flurry of activity as Lou kicked the gun clear and Wordy moved in from behind, placing a hand gently on Sean's shoulder. The phone slid from his hands and clattered to the ground, Aaron's face still filling the screen.

"It's time to go Sean," Greg said softly, and the subject offered no resistance as Wordy pulled his hands behind his back and cuffed them. Greg sighed and turned away.

"23:42 – Subject Sean Carter contained." He walked back to the SUV and the two squad cars that had arrived with Wilson.

"That's a job well done. Come on, let's get down to the hospital. I hear Sam's out of surgery."

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**Epilogue**

Ed sat in the sterile waiting room of the hospital ward, his exhaustion finally catching up with his as he leaned back in his chair. Sophia curled up closer against him, kissing him softly on his neck. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her close. No words were needed between them, but he bent his head down and whispered in her ear.

"I love you." She smiled, and rested her head on his chest. He was her superman. More than that, he was her man.

"You did good today guys," he told the rest of his team, scattered in the adjoining chairs. Greg nodded his agreement.

"You did better than good. You did your jobs. You should be proud."

Lou smiled but said nothing. Even Spike seemed disinclined to break the solemn mood.

"I love you too Shelly," Wordy said, before hanging up the phone. He'd been on it since arriving at the hospital quarter of an hour before. They all knew how close they'd come to disaster today, and Greg didn't blame him for wanting to comfort of hearing his wife's voice. For his part, he told himself he would call Kate and Dean in the morning, maybe fly out and visit them. Whether or not they'd see him, he didn't know. But he would try. He owed them that much.

A nurse stepped out of Sam's room, appearing unfazed by the five men and two women who had been keeping vigil outside the injured cop's room.

"You can see him now. Half an hour only."

"Thank you," Greg said on behalf of the team, who filed into the room before the nurse could stipulate only one visitor. Sam was awake, smiling up at them from his bed.

"Hey guys, what kept you?" he asked weakly.

"Well, you know, we weren't going to bother," Spike teased, "but the boss made us."

Jules punched him lightly on the arm and shot him an evil look. She walked forward to Sam's bed, bent down, and kissed him on the cheek.

"Happy birthday Sam."

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**A/N: Well, that's it for my first fan fic – I hope you enjoyed it (and I hope you'll forgive me for the Hugh Dillon reference and shooting Sam!). A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed, and thanks SAR132-4 for spotting my phonetic**** alphabet error! **

**Look out for more Ed-fics coming soon, and who knows, maybe next time I'll spare you all the happy endings! Peace, out.**


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